


Rose and Hux Go to The DMV

by kalx58



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Co-workers, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, bread as a love language, remember going to bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalx58/pseuds/kalx58
Summary: Rose has a weird Saturday.She changes tactics. “Did you do anything fun last night?”“No. And just because we’re sitting next to each other, don’t feel like you have to—” he says, gesturing between the two of them.She stares a little. God, he’s rude. Well, whatever. She pulls out her book and starts reading, turning her body away from him.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 40
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

Rose is making faces at a baby when he walks in. “Hey, Hux,” she calls, waving at him, and gets a tight nod in return. She sees him scan the crowded DMV waiting area, his dawning realization that the seat next to hers is the only free seat on their side of the lobby, unless he wants to turn around and very obviously not sit with her. 

“Hello, Rose,” he says, arranging himself next to her, the two words somehow sounding haughty. Rose is half-surprised he knows her name. She knows everyone who works at their company, from the third-tier accountant to the facilities manager, but she and Hux have only talked a handful of times. 

“What brings you to the beautiful El Cerrito DMV so bright and early?” she says with a smile. 

“Driving test.”

“Good choice. All the Oakland DMVs are always so much more crowded. I’m getting my Real ID. It’s that weird new ID you have to get before October if you want to fly, and I thought I might as well suck and up and just—”

“How long have you been here?” he interrupts, twisting around to stare at all the people, looking annoyed. 

Rose makes a scrunched up, exaggeratedly mean face at the baby, who giggles. “Just got here ten minutes ago.” 

He makes a hmphing noise and folds his arms across his chest. She notices that his hair isn’t coated with the same heavy gel it usually is. It looks better this way. 

“How are you feeling about your test? Are you nervous?” she asks. Rose prides herself on her ability to talk to anyone. Lyft drivers. Elderly neighbors. Random girls in bar bathrooms. She enjoys it, the treasure hunt of finding something, anything, that makes a person light up and start talking excitedly. If her and Hux are forced to sit next to each other, they might as well talk. He doesn’t seem to agree. 

“No.” 

“Do you drive a lot?”

“No.” 

She changes tactics. “Did you do anything fun last night?”

“No. And just because we’re sitting next to each other, don’t feel like you have to—” he says, gesturing between the two of them. 

She stares a little. God, he’s rude. Well, whatever. She pulls out her book, and starts reading, turning her body away from him.

* * *

“Oh, you dropped your ID!” Rose calls to the woman in front of her, leaning forward to hand it over.

“Thanks,” the person says, turning around and matching Rose’s smile. It’s a teenage girl with a nose piercing. “I would have been screwed. Actually, I hate to ask this, but—”

“Oh, do you need a pen?” Rose asks, noticing her stack of papers. “Here, let me—” she says, fishing around her bag and handing the girl a purple gel pen. 

“Is this from Muji? I love their stuff,” the girl says, and she and Rose talk excitedly for ten minutes about the joys of Muji, Daiso highlighters and JetPens. The girl shows Rose her studygram account, which Rose exclaims over, and follows immediately. 

“You’re never going to get that pen back,” she hears Hux hiss at her under his breath as she sits back in her chair. It’s the first thing he’s said in 30 minutes.

“He speaks,” Rose says, irritated. “I thought you wanted silence. And I don’t care. It’s just a pen.”

He lets out a huff. He looks like he wants to say something—his mouth moves—but then he sets his lips in a straight line. His bottom lip, Rose finds herself noticing, is larger than she’d thought it would be.

“I apologize for being rude earlier,” he says formally after a minute. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated to talk to me. I’m very hungry and I know I can be—unpleasant when I’m hungry.”

Rose looks at him, and he’s now staring straight ahead. “Well, thanks. And I can help with that,” she says, offering him his choice of protein bars from her tote. 

“Did you steal these from work?” he says, selecting one and beginning to eat it in neat, precise bites. “I’m going to report you.” 

She feels like he might be serious about that. “Uh—”

“Joke.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she says. “So tell me. Is this your first time in the hellscape of an American DMV?”

“Yes. It was my American to-do list, along with eating a hot dog and buying a gun at Wal-Mart. Those are later today.” 

She giggles a little. “It’s not too bad if you come prepared.”

“You seem extremely prepared,” he says, peering down at her bag, which contains two old New Yorkers, her book, snacks, a water bottle and a makeup bag. She offers him one of the magazines and he accepts, and they read in easy silence. 

* * *

“I think he likes you,” Rose says, elbowing Hux in the side and gesturing at the baby, who’s now staring wide-eyed at Hux, like he’s the most fascinating thing on the planet. 

Hux looks down at where she’s touched him and then at the baby, who he frowns at. “I’m probably just the first redhead he’s seen. We’re a genetic anomaly. And there probably won’t be any more when he grows up, since redheads need to procreate with each other and none of us are attracted to each other.”

“Uh,” Rose says, not quite sure how to respond. And then the baby throws its pacifier at Hux and she bursts into laughter when he swears under his breath and picks it up, looking repulsed. 

* * *

“Can you believe this?”

“Hmm?” Rose says, trying to focus on organizing her contacts list. Why does she still have the number of her seventh grade lab partner? 

He shakes his phone in her direction. “If you go on the website for this DMV location, it says the real time wait is 15 minutes. We’ve been here 45 minutes. That’s inexcusable.” 

“I think you might need to do some expectation management, Hux.” 

“I could build a program to give you a more accurate estimate in the time I’ve wasted here.” 

“Right.” She definitely doesn’t need the number of “Ian? Tiki bar” going forward. 

At that moment, someone in their row knocks over their bottle of soda. A stream of orange soda snakes toward them. Hux grabs Rose’s tote from the ground, but he doesn’t move his feet in time, and the soda pools around his sneakers. 

“Serenity now,” he says with a groan, standing and heading toward the bathrooms. 

* * *

“Let me see it.” 

“No.” 

“Oh, come on, I’ll show you my old ID photo. Me when I’m 15 and a half.” 

“I could care less.”

“Do you have a really embarrassing haircut or something?” she says.

“Jesus,” he says, holding out his passport. “Since you seem to care so much.” 

She squeals when she sees the picture. “Your hair is so long.” 

“I went to a lot of raves. Now let me see yours.”

“I thought you didn’t care?” she says, handing it over. “Were you like one of the Skins teenagers? Lots of glamorous drama and huge parties?”

“Exactly. I was very cool and very popular,” he says, passing it back. “And you look the same.” 

* * *

“Why are none of these cartoons actually funny,” he says later, frowning down at the magazine. “This is just a statement. It’s not a joke.” 

He leans over, to show her the magazine, jabbing his finger at an admittedly unfunny caption, and she’s aware of the press of his shoulder against hers as she laughs and tells him about the theory that any New Yorker cartoon caption could be replaced by “Christ, what an asshole.” 

* * *

“What number are you?” Hux asks, craning his neck to look at the papers in her lap. 

“G-57.” 

“I’m A-26. What the hell does that mean for my chance of leaving her before six?” 

She doesn’t really know why she keeps talking to him, or why he’s talking back. They don’t really interact at work, since she’s a mere data analyst and he’s a senior research engineer. The corner of the office where his team works is a dark place, filled with empty yerba mate bottles and GitHub stickers. Someone on his team even has a Tibetan singing bowl, which they play when thinking about code, to the annoyance of the entire office. The only time Rose has really talked to Hux was to tell him, in her sternest voice, that he needed to start giving the intern that rotated around their departments clearer instructions and acknowledge when he did something right, because she noticed he was ending his days in tears more often than not. Hux had looked down at her—he has almost a foot on her—and snapped, “Noted.” Which she had thought was a little lacking, as far as professional communication goes, but the intern had started looking a little less tremulous the next week, and told her proudly that Hux had even complimented his solution to a recurring bug. 

“I think they alternate, depending on the type of appointment? See, you can check the TV—”

They both look at the TV screen above them, which is broadcasting a blinking series of numbers on a blue pixelated background. Occasionally, it cuts out, leaving static. 

“That looks like the beginning to a found footage horror movie,” he says. “Perhaps it’s a sign that I’m going to die here.” 

The screen changes, and starts broadcasting an ad for a combination catfish restaurant and smog repair shop down the street. 

“Shouldn’t private advertising in a government building be illegal?” Hux says, glaring at it. 

“Probably. But that place is hella good. The exhaust smell really adds a special something. So, who goes first at a four way stop?”

“Don’t do this. And ‘hella’? Really?”

“It’s my culture. You know, like Skins is for you. Do the hand signals for me. C’mon. I know you want to.”

“Why are you like this,” he says, rolling his eyes and cycling through the motions. “It’s not even 10 a.m. yet.”

“I’m a morning person. You couldn’t tell? Oh, you’re welcome! Good luck!” Rose says as the teenage girl hands her her pen back. “Have you practiced backing up 50 feet?”

“The California test is a joke,” he says, straightening his posture, using the tone she already knows will lead to a Strong Hux Opinion. “You don’t have to parallel park. You don’t have to change a tire. In England, you have to actually know things about the workings of a car, and how to test your oil—”

“We are trash,” she says cheerfully. “And yet, I somehow failed my test the first time.” 

“Did you kill someone? That’s all it takes to fail, right?”

“Nope, I just went through a light a little too late and technically ran the red. I don’t think any of my friends passed the first time. But I’m sure you will,” she says, noticing the querulous expression on his face.

He folds his arms across his chest again.

“I’m not nervous,” he says eventually.

“Okay.”

“I’m not!”

“Now serving A-26 at window five,” a bored voice announces. 

She pats his arm. “You got this.” 

“Why did I get called before you? You were here first. That’s not fair,” he says, looking irritated, which Rose realizes now might just be a sign of his nerves. 

“They’re going to give your spot away in exactly three seconds. You gotta go,” she says, giving him a little push. He grabs his papers and heads to the counter, posture ramrod straight. 

Talking to him had been more fun than she’d anticipated, Rose thinks, watching him hand his paperwork over. He’s spiky and opinionated, but has more of a sense of humor than she’d been able to tell from the loud Python arguments she’s overheard between him and Ben at work, the ones that make her and Rey roll their eyes at each other and put their headphones on. It had been almost nice—oh no. She can tell by Hux’s body language that something has gone wrong. The DMV worker is jabbing her finger on a piece of paper and he’s gesturing at something and she’s shrugging and pointing to the door, and why has he turned to look at her with desperation? Why is he making a weird jerky motion with his head—

“Hi!” she says with a big smile, when she walks over. She’s met with two irritated expressions. 

“Are you a licensed driver in the state of California,” the DMV woman says, completely toneless.

“Excuse me?” Rose says, confused.

“This...man only has his learner’s permit,” she says, sounding like she wants to substitute another noun. “Anyone with a foreign license needs an adult with a current license to check in with them before they can take the test. If that’s you, I need your ID.”

Hux is tapping his foot, and Rose can practically feel how stressed he is. “Oh,” Rose says, reaching for her wallet. “Here you go.” 

The woman grabs her ID and walks slowly over to her copier, shaking her head. 

“That was not on the DMV website,” Hux says, seething, and then he inhales and looks at Rose, face more relaxed. “I—thank you. I would have had to reschedule and she took a lot of joy in telling me that the next appointment would be at least three months from now.” 

“You’re welcome,” she says. It’s so much nicer to be around him when he’s not frowning. He’s looking down at her and she notices that his eyes are a nice shade of green. 

The DMV woman slaps Rose’s ID on the counter. “Ok, you can go now. You,” she says with venom to Hux, “Go wait by the door for the instructor.” 

“Wait, she still has to get her Real ID,” he snaps back.

“No, I’m fine,” Rose says quickly. She would rather be stuck at the DMV for the rest of eternity than ask for special treatment or put someone out. “I can wait until my number is called.”

The woman sighs, loudly, and then gestures to Rose for her stack of papers. “Fine. These only take two minutes.” 

Rose thanks her profusely, complimenting her on her cubicle decorations. She turns to thank Hux, but he’s already striding away. 

* * *

Rose is powdering her face in the long line to get her photo taken when Hux comes in again. His face is so impassive that she can’t suss out if he passed or not. He’s clutching a new set of papers, and comes to join her in the line.

“Well?” Rose asks. 

“I passed. Like I said, it’s a ridiculous test,” he says with a sniff, but she can tell he’s relaxed. 

“Congratulations!” she says, giving him a hug, because that’s what she does when she hears good news, feeling the slim strength of his body. 

“We should celebrate,” she says. And wait. She doesn’t know why she said that. Rose is a fan of making everything an occasion and celebrating the little things—one of the best parts of her friendship with Rey has been making an elaborate, obnoxious fuss over Rey’s birthday, since no one had ever done that for her before—-but Hux? Her snarly coworker who seems annoyed by everything? Stupid extrovert instincts. 

He looks surprised, blanching a little, but she thinks she sees something in his face that seems a little pleased to be asked, and that’s enough for Rose. She likes making people feel good, and included. At best, it’ll be a fun-enough time doing some more conversational volleying with him. At worst, it’ll be an awkward half hour that she can make up an excuse to leave, a funny story to tell Rey and Finn later.

“If you insist,” Hux says. “And. I suppose I owe you for vouching for me to the United States government.” 

“If you get a ticket, does this mean I get one too? Don’t make me regret this.”

“Well, that would never happen,” he says smugly. “Because I’m a great driver.”

“Uh-huh. Ugh, I always get nervous that I’m going to have some hideous photo for the next five years,” she says, as they move slowly through the line. 

“It is a little barbaric. Your one chance.” 

“I got really lucky last time. I took an awful first one. But the guy was super nice and let me retake it when I asked him nicely.” 

“Of course he did,” he says, looking down at her.

* * *

“Did you drive here?” Hux asks after they’ve both taken their photos (cheery grin for her, serial killer nonexpression for him) and she’s given her ticket number to a grateful senior. 

“No, I bussed.” 

“Where do you want to go for that drink?” he asks. “I don’t know cool places. At all. So it’s up to you.” 

“There’s a bar sort of nearby in Berkeley that’s divey, but it’s got a good patio. If we’re going to have a noon beer, it should probably be in a slightly sketchy atmosphere.” 

“Okay,” he says, unlocking his pristine Camry. 

* * *

They get to the bar—“This looks like where all the drops would happen in all the mob movies my grandmother would watch,” Hux says suspiciously—and there’s not a ton of street parking, but Rose points out a spot she thinks he’ll fit in. 

He doesn’t seem to want to take it, and eventually, it dawns on her. “Wait. You can’t parallel park?” 

“I can. In theory,” he says, signaling to circle the block. “I’ve done it once. In a different country. Different side of the road. I don’t feel the need to challenge myself right now. You said this was a celebration.” 

“You complained that you weren’t forced to do it in the test! I can do it.” 

“No. It would be rude of me to make you do that.” 

“Is it that you don’t trust me?”

“No, no,” he says, slowing down to look for a spot. A car behind them starts to honk.

“We’re like five blocks away at this point. Actually, I have an idea. Take a right here.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Here, you can park in the driveway. We can just walk from here, it’s not that far. But I need to grab something from inside first.” 

Rose never planned on Hux seeing the inside of the apartment she shares with her sister, but today seems to be a day of surprises. They climb up the stairs to the second floor of her building, and as soon as she gets closer to the door, she hears the little yips—“I’m coming,” she croons—and when she opens the door, a pug hurtles itself at her, licking, bizarrely and as it always does, at her ankles. 

“Wha—” she hears Hux say behind her as she heads inside. She picks up Archie, who wiggles and licks her face. “Archie, this is—why does everyone call you by your last name? Do you prefer that?” 

He shrugs. “I’m used to it. If you’re so inclined, you can call me Armitage.” 

“So, Armie?” She puts Archie on the floor, and he immediately runs over to Hux, who looks at him suspiciously. 

“I didn’t say that. Is this your dog?” he says, bending and holding out a hand. Archie just wheezes in his direction. 

“It’s my cousin’s. She and my sister are at a bachelorette party in Vegas this weekend, and I’m dog sitting.”

“You weren’t invited?”

“Rude!” 

“I just meant—you seem to be friends with literally everyone,” he says, still looking at Archie.

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” she says, smiling. 

“No I just hear your extremely loud recitations of your weekends from my desk while I’m trying to work,” he says, but there’s no real malice. “I’m just surprised there was an event you weren’t invited to.” 

“I don’t really know the person. But thanks for looking out.” 

“I wasn’t—” he says as she walks into the kitchen to grab Archie’s leash and treats. 

“I thought we could bring him,” she says over her shoulder. “He’s very social.” 

“If you insist.” 

“Do you want a hat?” she asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You squinted the entire drive here.” 

“It was sunny,” he says defensively. “And I left my sunglasses at home. But you don’t need to give me your hat.”

“Are you sure?” she says, waving an A’s hat at him. “I’ll bring it. Just in case one of us needs it.” 

They head out, and she comments on how bizarrely warm the day is. 

“Global warming,” he says gloomily, squinting at the trees. “Does the hat offer still stand?”

She hands it over. “At least I’m not the one who just bought a car.” 

“Individual choices will never solve the climate crisis,” he says loftily. “It will require systemic, government-led changes starting with the largest governments and corporations. And it was new used, because I’m not an idiot.” 

“Who knew you were such a radical? And the hat looks good.”

“I know for a fact that it doesn’t. No redhead should ever wear a green and yellow hat. It’s in our charter.” 

In front of the bar, she stops to buy a Street Spirit newspaper from the homeless man outside, and while she digs in her wallet for cash, Hux offers to hold Archie’s leash, even though he’s still looking at Archie warily. When they walk into the bar, she feels a buzz of happiness at the familiar sticky floor and obscure 80’s movie—today, a Japanese vampire movie— playing silently. She leads them outside to the patio, where clusters of people and their dogs are already relaxing in the sun.

Hux disappears immediately once they’ve sat down at a picnic table. Probably so he can get the first round and have his obligation to her complete, so he can rush off and do whatever he usually does on weekends, she thinks, scratching Archie's ears. 

He comes back with two beers and starts looking around.

“Uh, Hux?” she says, when he’s still doing it a minute later. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Do they have board games? I feel like they should, somewhere,” he says, a little agitated. 

Rose can’t think of anything she’d like to do less than play a board game right now. And Hux seems like someone who would be...adamant about rules.

“I don’t think they do. This place is more...twenty minute wait for the bathrom because people are having sex in there and less Catan-y. Let’s just relax. We’ve survived the DMV. We don’t need to use our brains any more today.” 

He clinks glasses with her but still looks stressed out, like he’s uneasy with their impromptu hangout. She’s also wondering how they got here, but they might as well lean into the randomness of it and try to enjoy it, she thinks. 

He’s silent for a long time. “What do you think about the new Jira update?” he asks finally. 

She groans. 

“True, it’s a lot to get used to. But I think actually is helpful, though I have my doubts about Atlassian as a company—” 

“Let’s not talk about our company’s product management software either since, you know, we’re not at work,” she says, and there’s that uncomfortable look on his face again, like he doesn’t know what to do. She racks her brain for something else to talk about. “Do you have any travel you’re doing anytime soon?” 

He tells her about his upcoming trip back to England to see his family, and how he misses being able to walk everywhere, and eating Sunday roasts, and she learns how his face relaxes when he’s genuinely excited about something. It’s getting warmer, and he pulls off his prim sweater, revealing a faded blue t-shirt. 

“You’re so weird,” she says when he tells her how he even misses the weather in England, and how nice it was to grow up with quote unquote real weather, and isn’t it boring to have perfect, 68 degree weather every day? “Um, no. Really, I’m totally fine with good weather.” 

“You don’t know what you're missing,” he says. “You grew up in the Bay Area?” 

“Yep.”

“I knew it,” he says, shaking his head sadly. “If you don’t grow up with shitty weather at least half the time, you end up disturbingly happy and well-adjusted. You’re soft, Tico.” 

Is he teasing her? She gasps dramatically, enjoying how it makes him smile. “I am so tough, you don’t even know. There is graffiti in a bathroom stall at Castlemont High School about—”

“Hey, Rosie, right?” a voice says. Rose turns and finds herself being beamed at by Spencer, a coworker from her last job. 

“Oh, hey Spencer,” she says, hugging him. “Rose, actually. How are you? What are you up to these days?” she asks, immediately regretting it. When they worked together, Spencer always talked forever, never asked her any questions, and always seemed completely oblivious to the fact, in the distinct way of an overconfident tech bro. As if that wasn’t annoying enough, he’s now eyeing her openly, and she hopes he’s not getting any ideas. He’s still monologuing at her, with an aren’t-I-charming smile on his face, when she cuts him off. 

“That’s crazy that you’re still using COBOL for that. I’m at a new place now and loving it—” she says pointedly, since he doesn’t seem to care— “and this is Hux.” 

Spencer seems to notice Hux for the first time, and looks between them. “Nice to meet you, man,” he says. Hux nods and doesn’t say anything. Rose can see the wheels turning in Spencer’s brain, and realizes that because he thinks she’s on a date with Hux, she’s out of the pool of women-who-might-fuck-him, and thus, not worth talking to any more. 

“Well, great seeing you, Rosie!” Spencer says, backing away quickly.

“It’s Rose,” Hux calls out after him, and she laughs a little into her beer. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you not enjoy talking to someone,” he says to her. “Except for when you yelled at me that one time at work.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call that yelling.”

“It was stern, at least. I thought you hated me.” 

She didn’t realize he’d thought that. The admission seems a little too personal for the joking they’ve been doing, and he’s now looking attentively off at something to the side.

“Well, I definitely don’t—and didn’t—hate you.” He turns back to her and still looks discomfited, but she continues. “And now you’re a great intern supervisor. I think you might even be crossing into mentor territory for some of this year’s crop.” 

He shudders. “Let’s not go overboard.” And then he asks about her travel plans, and she tells him about her upcoming camping trip with her sister and Rey, and he peppers her with questions about how long she’ll be gone, what parks she likes and if she’s ever seen a bear, listening intently to her answers. 

Rose realizes that they’ve both finished their beers. “So, I still owe you a celebration drink. Would you be interested, or do you have places to be?” She’s surprised to find that she wants to keep going, to find out if there are other ways he'll surprise her. 

“I have nowhere to be,” he says, and she smiles.

“Me neither.”

They decide to order food since they’re staying—“The workers here are almost as bored as I am at work,” Hux says admiringly when he fetches their nachos. “They glared at me when I tipped them”—and she leaves to get the next round. She turns back when she hears a bark, worried that it’s Archie, but when she looks, Archie is sitting next to Hux on the bench, wagging his tail, and Hux is turning away, making her wonder if he was looking at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this is a real thing! I was the Rose for a friend and it stuck in my mind as a perfect rom com setup. Thanks, DMV ?


	2. Chapter 2

The bartender turns out to be someone Rose went to high school with, and they catch up, talking about their families, jobs and some recent alumni gossip (“Did you hear about Mr. Eschland?” the girl asks. “So creepy,” they say in unison.) She finds out that Rose is there celebrating with someone, winks and passes Rose two shots of tequila and two tall cans of PBR rather than the sensible, low alcohol pilsners Rose had intended to order, and doesn’t accept Rose’s money. Rose hugs her, leaves a stack of cash on the counter anyway, and heads out of the dark bar, blinking into the sun. 

She stops short. There’s a woman, a pretty woman, talking to Hux and angling her body towards him in a very flattering way. And Rose is a good friend, a supportive friend, someone who’s always encouraging when her friends want to go off and talk to some random attractive person. So obviously, there’s nothing wrong with the way the girl is bending her head towards his, the way she’s laughing at something he’s said.

Rose lingers as long as she can by the barrel she’s standing near. She doesn’t look over, trying to focus on her sister’s Instagram review of the Magic Mike revue she’d gone to last night (five out of five eggplant emojis.) When she eventually glances over and sees he’s alone again, she picks up the shots, beers and limes and walks over. 

“I’ve just read a fascinating article about Ronald Reagan’s contributions to the homeless crisis,” he says, folding the newspaper she’d bought neatly and scratching Archie on the head. 

“Fun. Who was that girl?” she asks casually.

He frowns and turns a bit red. “She asked me about the A’s and the dog. Neither of which I know about. And then she told me she was very single and liked my accent.” 

Rose admires the girl’s chutzpah, even if the idea makes her feel strange. “Did you get her number? Are you going to buy her a drink?”

“No. I’m here with you. Even my manners aren’t that bad. She can just rewatch Harry Potter if she has an accent fetish.”

“Anyway,” he says, as Rose lets out a surprised laugh. “What the hell is this?” he says, looking down at the alcohol in front of them. 

“We-llll, it turns out that I actually went to high school with the bartender. We caught up, and it was really nice and she gave me two specials—actually, I think they call these el especiales, since it’s tequila, not whiskey—for free and I couldn’t really say no.”

“See, this is the problem with being so friendly,” he says, and there’s the beginning of a smile starting to play across his face. “You end up in these situations, forced to drink tequila before 1 p.m. If you’re just, you know, your average miserable grump like me, you avoid these kinds of problems.” 

“I don’t think you're a miserable grump,” she says. “Maybe like, a Diet Coke grump. But not a full-strength version.” 

“Yes, well,” is all he says, looking away. He’d been a little lazier with shaving this morning, maybe, and there’s a shadow of scruff around his jaw that makes him look a little looser. 

“We don’t have to drink these. I’m sure I can find someone to give the shots to.” 

“I feel like some spirit haunting this place would get upset and call us weak if we didn’t drink these. Or maybe I’m just thinking of my father’s reaction,” he says, picking up the shot glass and looking at it. “I can always take a Lyft home and get my car tomorrow if it comes to that. If it’s ok to leave it at your place?”

She’s surprised, but picks up her glass, and hands him a lime. “That sounds good. Well, cheers to the DMV, I guess?” 

* * *

They get drunk of course, thanks to the two drinks in rapid succession and bright sunlight. The patio starts to fill—with people, dogs, the scent of weed—and there’s some punk song Rose remembers from high school playing. It’s a strange situation to see prim, put-together Hux in, who usually wears a collared shirt to work while every other guy wears wrinkled t-shirts from various hackathons. But with his A’s hat and t-shirt, he fits into the bar’s pleasantly grimy atmosphere, and now he’s slouching a little over the table to look at the picture she’s showing him on her phone, of her recent attempt at making focaccia. (“It requires so much oil. Like this much oil. So much oil Hux, and then it didn’t rise and it was so sad and I just want to be a cool baker like Samin and it didn’t work.”) He’s smiling again, and he looks so much more relaxed, so much happier than he usually does. He just looks—good, Rose thinks, studying the elegant line of his jaw. 

* * *

“I’m trapped,” he says somberly when he gets back from the bathroom.

“Huh?” Rose says, trying to balance her beer can in the slat of the table. 

“If I wear the hat, I’m clashing. If I take it off, I have this awful hat hair.”

Rose doesn’t look up. “Your hair looks fine.” 

“It’s messy. And floppy,” he says with disgust. 

She rolls her eyes, still concentrating on the angle of the can, so it tilts but doesn’t fall. “Don’t be stupid. Floppy is 90’s heartthrob. Floppy is good. Are you trying to get me to compliment your hair?” 

“No.”

“Your hair looks good, Hux. I like it without all the goop in it.” 

“It’s not goop. And stop doing that, you’re going to spill your beer—oh no, now the dog is trying to lick it up—” 

* * *

“So, what are you doing the rest of the weekend, now that you’re free of the DMV?” he asks. “Just so I have a preview for Monday when you and Poe spend your hour loudly talking about your weekends instead of working.” 

“Oh, shut up. We are not loud. Your desk is just right there,” she says, a little slurred. “You and Ben take way longer making coffee with your stupid drug scale every day.” 

“It’s a gram scale to measure the coffee, because otherwise—” 

“Like I was saying,” she says loudly. “Tomorrow I’m going to brunch with Rey and our friend Finn at that biscuit place downtown. And I’ll probably deep clean and take Archie to the dog park before my sister and cousin get back. And then—oh, most importantly, I’m getting my eyebrows threaded. Very exciting day.” 

“What the hell does it mean to thread your eyebrows?”

She giggles. Everything he’s saying seems funnier than it probably really is. “A lady takes a thread—”

“The titular thread—”

“Shh.” He smirks at her. She likes him smirking at her, she thinks. “She takes a thread and it’s really sharp and it slices your hair off at the root or something? I’m not really sure. It hurts and it works.”

“I still don’t get the thread,” he says, pulling out his phone. He taps at it and looks horrified. “This seems awful. Why do you do this to yourself?”

“You have to suffer for beauty, Hux.” 

He squints at her face. “Your eyebrows look fine.”

“Trust me. I’ll look at least 10% better—probably 30%—when they’re done.” 

He looks at her face with an expression she doesn’t quite understand. “Hmm. Oh, when you said focaccia, it made me think of my baby. Get ready for what I do on my weekends.”

He leans forward to show her something on his phone, and she leans too, hands clasped around her beer. She could move an inch and their arms would touch.

She pulls her gaze from his arms to look at what he’s showing her. “A dough ball?”

“My sourdough starter,” he says grandly. “It’s been so good to me.” He swipes, showing her beautiful loaves of crusty bread. 

“How do you get the cut marks?” she says, frowning. 

“You can just use a knife. But because I’m me, I have a lame.”

“What the hell is a—” she does an exaggerated version of his accent. “—A lahhhhm?” 

“It’s a fancy French weapon for slashing bread. It’s ridiculous and has literally no other function. It’s wonderful.” 

“I love bread,” Rose says with a sigh. 

She thinks he might tease her for how stupid she sounds but he looks at her with a soft expression that she wouldn’t have thought he was capable of the day before. 

“Me too,” he says, smiling wide. He shakes his head a little. “So. Ah, yeah, what was I saying? Tomorrow. I’ll probably make some bread. And then I’ll probably go hiking.” 

“With Ben?” 

“God, no. He just stomps around like it’s a workout and doesn’t appreciate the scenery. Just me.” 

“Alone? Armieeeee that’s not safe.”

“My name isn’t—whatever. But no. I’m going close by. I just want to go somewhere in nature. I mean, that’s basically why I got the car,” he says he says, a little thickly and earnestly, “I am going to start hiking.” He proclaims it, like he’s running for president. “I am going to become one of those obnoxiously serene Bay Area people who talks about going up in the hills on the weekend, and has a membership card at REI, and who knows the secret, non-crowded trails to see redwoods without a million fucking people.” 

It’s cute how excited he is, Rose finds herself thinking. “I’m very happy for you,” she says. 

He leans towards her again. His hand holding a water glass bumps up against hers, and the backs of their hands brush. He doesn't move. “I bet you know those secret local trails. Don’t you, Rose?” 

He’s grinning and saying it in the same teasing way that they’ve both been using, but something slides a little in Rose’s brain. She doesn’t know if he’s noticed that their hands are touching, but her body certainly has, and it’s alert from that small touch. It’s a different kind of teasing, a kind that makes her a little breathless. She’s not quite sure how she feels about it just yet, so she stands, grabbing her glass. “I do have some recommendations. But I’m going to get some more water first. Want some?”

* * *

“They’re both so dramatic. She’s always looking at him like she wants to kill him but first drag him off to a closet and do disgusting things to him.”

“Well, he’s always so ‘Rey. Stop drinking my cold brew. But don’t notice how I’m always super unsubtly staring at you,’” Rose says in her best deep, fake-Ben Solo voice. 

He laughs. “They really should just get on with it.” 

“Ben would be lucky to date Rey,” she says loyally. 

“And Ben would probably be a perfectly acceptable boyfriend. The amount he works out is unhealthy. He needs something else to do with his time.” 

“How do you guys even know each other? It seems like you have a very….expressive working relationship.” 

“We met in grad school. We had an awful advisor who encouraged competition among everyone in our program so we really hated each other for a while. Then we got over it and he told me about this job. Now we just play video games or rock climb if we need to get out our agression instead of trying to academically sabotage each other.” 

“How beautiful.” 

“What about you and Rey?”

“We banded together in one of the CS glasses where we were the only girls. Actually, this place was one of the first places we hung out. She drank three of these specials and didn’t seem drunk at all. She was just super nice to everyone. It was spooky.” 

He snorts. “That’s the opposite of Ben. He has two IPAs and gets tipsy. It’s what happens when you grow up on your uncle's meditation retreat and don’t touch alcohol until you’re 23.” 

Rose yawns. They’re both basically sober now, but she’s tired from their day. “We should probably head back.” 

They leave, and Hux clips on Archie’s leach and walks him back without saying anything. When they get to her place, she toes off her shoes, and he does the same. He’s wearing striped sock, she notices. Archie runs in front of them to his bed and plops down, immediately falling asleep.The afternoon sun has filled her apartment with a languorous, still warmth. 

“I think I have something that might be helpful in your relaxed-hiker quest,” Rose says, walking to her bookshelf. She digs around to find it, and when she turns back, Hux is sitting on her couch. This time, she’s positive he was staring at her ass. And Rose is entirely okay with that, she finds. 

He walks towards her and she holds out her copy of “101 Great Hikes of the San Francisco Bay Area.” “This is a good one,” she says. “The author ranks them all by difficulty—the hardest level is butt kicker, which is kind of funny—and she has specific lists of hikes to see waterfalls and birds and whatever you’re into.” 

He’s holding the edge of the book, but he hasn’t fully taken it from her yet, so they’re both holding onto opposite corners of it. She can hear Archie snoring in the distance. Hux hasn’t said anything.

“Hello?” she says, pushing it toward him a little. She looks up at him. She’s so short next to him that she has to crane her neck a little. “You can borrow this. Also, did you know that you’re too tall? You should really work on that.”

“Well, you’re too nice,” he says, and she can hear the day’s alcohol in his voice, the way that his voice is too quick, a little loud. “Actually, no. Nice is boring. And generic. You’re always giving people your stuff and always smiling and talking to everyone and helping people. You’re just—good.”

Rose is so surprised that she lets go of her corner of the book. “Oh,” she says. He’s still looking at her, and his expression is a little fierce and she can tell he meant what he said, but now he’s turning away, and walking quickly to her kitchen. “Okay if I grab a glass of water?” he says.

“Yeah,” she says, sitting on the couch, her slow brain still processing. Does he—

When he comes back with glasses for them, he sits down next to her, lurching a little, his movements awkward. Some water sloshes out onto her couch. 

“Shit,” he says, rubbing at it with the sweater he’d left there.

“It’s fine,” she says. He keeps blotting. She tugs at his sleeve, raises her voice a little. “Hux. Armie.” 

He looks at her, eyes uncertain, and they’re sitting so close, and she leans over a little more and kisses him. She can tell he’s surprised at first but then he’s cupping her jaw and kissing her back with intention, hand coming up to cradle her jaw. She can taste the Pabst they’ve been drinking, but it’s ok, she thinks as his tongue slides against hers. Her hands come up to his shoulders, and she likes how his t-shirt is warm from the sun. He’s eager, holding her tight as he kisses her, pausing to murmur in her ear.

“Is this—” 

“Yeah,” she breathes, edging closer to him. He leans in, kissing her again and one of his hands passes over her breast lightly, the other edging across her waistband. She shivers a little, and when he squeezes her through his shirt, she feels arousal flare in her stomach. She scoots a little closer to him, and he’s tugging her onto his lap, and at this point the kiss is a little messy and frantic, the alcohol and the desire making their movements clumsy.

Her hips move against his, and she feels herself getting wet as the denim of their jeans scratches together. He gasps, and she feels the hard shape of him under her. And Rose wants more friction, more of this dragging against each other and she untangles herself to stand, almost falling off the couch. She straightens, grins at his stupefied expression and inclines her head in the direction of her room. “Bed?” 

He nods rapidly, and she takes his hand. Once they’re in her room, she sits down on her bed, still marveling at the situation and he sits down next to her, leaning over to kiss her. She lets him gently guide her down into her pillows—she’s glad she made her bed this morning, she thinks—as he kisses her neck and then makes his way down, pulling her shirt down impatiently to kiss the tops of her breasts. 

Once he reaches her pants, he pauses and looks up at her. She nods, too quickly, as she kicks them off. “Are you always wearing this type of thing when I see you at work?” he says interestedly, plucking at the lace of her lilac thong and kissing her thighs. 

“Ah, no,” she says, tugging them off. “Uh—whenever I get my picture taken—confidence—oh,” she says, feeling him press her thighs apart and his tongue start to move between her folds. 

His mouth feels good. Very good. But it’s not quite where she needs it, and she shifts her hips restlessly, bumping against his face as she tries to get pressure—there. He pulls back. 

“Do you want me to do something different?”

“No,” she says, moving her hips against his face to find the spot. It’s close, so close. 

“You’re going to give me a bloody nose if you keep doing that,” he says, amused. She groans and covers her face. He mouths over her thighs, lightly biting them. “Which I would happily endure if that’s what you want. But I feel like there’s something else I could be doing.”

“I don’t know how to explain…”

He frowns at her from between her thighs. “Rose. This is not the time to be polite. Tell me and I’ll do it. I want to do this right.”

She’s a little self-conscious, but it’s overshadowed by the swoony feeling of his attentiveness. She exhales, taking his hand and moving it a little farther up, showing him the pressure she needs. He learns quickly, and soon she can’t stop moving her hips against him, mindless with how good it feels. She's lying back against her pillows, and the light is streaming in, reflecting off her white walls and it feels decadent to be doing this in the afternoon, just chasing pleasure as the birds chirp in the tree outside. And then one of his fingers is pushing inside her, and the pleasure keeps building as he sucks on her clit. “Oh,” she says, clutching at his hair as she starts to come. “Oh, god. That feels so—ah fuck, there.” He looks pleased as he sits back.

She flops her head back against her pillows. “Condom,” she says, dazed, staring at the ceiling. “We need a condom. Hold on.” 

She grabs one from the giant Costco box in the bathroom, the one her sister had bought after her last breakup, and when she enters her room again, Hux is still fully dressed. His eyes bounce around her naked body like there’s too much to take in.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” she says, climbing onto his lap and tugging at his shirt. 

“Well, I can’t really take these off if you’re right there,” he mutters, bending to kiss the side of her mouth. She sits back on the bed while he starts to pull off his shirt. He seems a little hesitant, like he’s not quite confident with this part, and she makes appreciative noises when his shirt is off. 

He lies down next to her and she turns to kiss him, sliding her hand down his jeans to palm his erection. He pushes against her hand with a moan, and she likes the flush of power she feels at the grateful sound. She strokes him lightly through his pants, kissing the curve of his neck. “You should lose these,” she whispers. 

He scrambles to oblige, but then tugs at the hem of her shirt. “Please take this off. I’ve wanted to see—” he says. She throws off her shirt and bra, his eyes go gratifyingly wide as he sucks in a breath, staring at her chest. He immediately moves his hand to them, confidently squeezing and she gasps a little at the jolt of resulting arousal, almost too much after her recent orgasm. He’s propped himself up on an elbow as he plays with her and she likes how big he is over her, how hard he is under his boxer briefs. 

She pulls at them and when they’re off, he lies down so they’re both facing each other. They start kissing again, artless and messy, but she likes the way their bodies are colliding and seeking each other out, the scratch of his hair against her smoother skin. She feels his dick rub against her wetness for a second and he thrusts against it. She moves to lean back, trying to pull him on top of her, but he stops the motion and she looks at him, confused. 

“This way,” he says, slightly imperious but mostly eager, his hands moving to her ass, groaning as he squeezes. He urges her onto him, settling her on his lap. He has one hand on her breast, the other spread across her ass and he’s saying perfect somewhere in the direction of her chest. She smiles down, handing him the condom and once it’s on, she slowly lowers herself. 

She’s a little tired from the sun and booze and orgasm, but the way his thickness stretches her.feels shockingly good. She’s so surprised by the pleasure that for a minute, she forgets to move, just grinds against him, getting lost in it 

She thinks briefly about how he wears a perfectly ironed shirt to work every day, the usual precision of his hair, and how wild he looks now, his head tipped up, his red hair mussed against her white pillow. He can’t seem to get enough of her body, running his hands around the curve of her waist and down her hips. 

“Please, Rose,” he says with a pant, and she realizes with a start that of course he needs more. She raises and lowers herself on him a little faster, and his eyes are glued to the bounce of her chest except for when he glances up at her face, like he maybe still can’t believe what they’re doing. 

She squeezes her inner muscles around him, just to see his reaction, and he swears loudly. All of a sudden he sits up, changing the angle and she has to grab his shoulders to steady herself. His arms come down around her—“You’re so tiny,” he whispers, and she does feel small, the way he’s bouncing her so easily on his thighs—and he grabs one of her breasts, squeezing it and toying with her nipple. And then he’s bending down to suck hard, and the pressure of his mouth feels so good, and she’s able to roll her clit against where their bodies meet. Still, it’s a surprise a few minutes later when she actually does come again, dragging his mouth back to her breast, fingers clutched in that red hair, making it even messier. 

After, she feels boneless and empty-headed, but she keeps moving, because she’s come twice and she wants him to feel as good as she does. He’s looking at the way she’s bouncing on his lap and then he frantically thrusts up again, one hand digging into her shoulder, the other still clutching at her ass, holding himself there as he comes. “Fuck, Rose,” he says in her ear, sounding overcome. “Fucking hell—your body—the way you—just. You.” 

They disentangle and both use the bathroom. When Rose comes back, she finds him sprawled on her bed, and she’s relieved to learn that he’s not the of kind fastidious that leads to getting getting dressed immediately after sex. The light from the window slashes across him, and his eyes are half shut. “I’ll go soon,” he says, aiming for his usual assured tone, but his voice sounds sleepy. She smiles at him. 

“Your pillow is too soft. You need a firmer—neck problems,” he says, yawning. 

“My pillow is fine,” she says, laying down next to him. He tugs her towards him, bossy once more, and arranges them to his liking, folding his larger body around her. His hand is warm as it settles on her breast. She hears his breathing get deeper and soon Rose feels herself fade into sleep 

Rose wakes, not fully, to a blanket—her blanket—being pulled over her. There’s a tap running, Archie letting out a single bark, and then a “Shh,” followed by the sound of a door closing. Rose pulls the blanket over her head and falls back asleep for another 45 minutes. 

She has a slight headache when she wakes up for real. She’s alone, she realizes, and when she looks from her window to the street, notices that his car is gone. She drinks two glasses of water and takes Archie on a long walk in the fading light. The day feels like it’s been a thousand hours long. Waking up early to go to the DMV. Having three drinks before 2 p.m. And Hux! Hux, who she’d slept with and then napped with, which seems like the more surprising of the two. She’d liked seeing him relax around her, the way he’d dropped his prickly armor. She’d liked it a lot. She wonders how he feels about their strange day together. Is he regretting it right now? She hopes not, she thinks, eating an aggressively healthy dinner. 

The rest of the weekend passes in a lazy blur. She finds herself thinking about how big he’d felt as she sank down on him, the astonished way he’d looked at her, how he’d said her name like he was unwrapping something. On Monday, she’s a little apprehensive. When she gets to her desk, there’s something on it. A loaf of bread—she picks it up and inhales its smell, and it’s still a little warm—and her hiking book, with a Post-It sticking out of it. She opens to it. 

_Rose,_

_I hope your eyebrows have recovered from being viciously attacked. Thank you for letting me borrow this book as I start my transformation into a serene, unbothered Bay Area hiker. I’m not optimistic about my chances, but if you’d like to join me on my journey, I’m intrigued by page 95. If you have the time and/or inclination. No worries at all if not._

_Armitage (Not Armie)_ —there’s a emphatic-looking underline under that part— _Hux_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Occasional tweets here](https://twitter.com/kalx58)


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